Jeff Buick - Lethal Dose

She thought about what he had said, then nodded. “I see what you mean. Being the only person with the information that could sink them could prove to be quite dangerous.”

“Like you said, they’re murderers. I’d feel better if I knew exactly who it was. Right now we’re guessing it’s the top brass at Veritas.”

“I think it’s a pretty good guess,” Jennifer said. They were quiet for a minute, and watched as the waitress refilled Gordon’s coffee and brought Jennifer fresh hot water for her tea. Finally, Jennifer said, “What are you going to do now?”

He shrugged. “Get this back to my lawyer in Butte. She’ll know what to do with it.”

“I could make a copy if you want. That way if that disc gets corrupted or destroyed, you haven’t lost the data.”

He was hesitant. “You mean on your computer?” he asked, and she nodded. “I don’t know, Jennifer. If they found those files on your computer, they wouldn’t think twice about killing you.”

“How could they possibly find out the files are stored on my laptop? No one ever audits what is on my computer. And I could encode them so only the guys at Crypto-City could open the files.”

“Crypto-City?”

“National Security Agency. NSA. That’s what everyone calls their main complex at Fort Meade, midway between Baltimore and Washington. They specialize in cryptology. Don’t worry about it. Bad choice of words. Anyway, I’ll protect myself.”

He still wasn’t convinced. “Is there any other way to save the files?” he asked.

“Lots. We could buy a disk or another one of these things and copy the files over to it. That would give you a backup without having the data on my computer.”

“I’d feel better if we did that, Jennifer. I don’t want anything on your system that could link you to Triaxcion. Enough people have already died. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

“I’ll take that as a clue that you care about my well-being. Thank you.” She was wearing an ear-to-ear grin. “But look around, Mr. Buchanan. Do you see any sinister types lurking about?”

Gordon scanned the room. A handful of tables were taken, most by businessmen having a late breakfast by themselves. Most were middle-aged white men dressed in business casual. One fellow, younger than most, wore golf clothes and was reading the sports section of the morning newspaper. Two tables were taken by couples, one elderly, the other young and with eyes for nothing but each other.

“It’s the newlyweds,” she said to Gordon as he finished looking about the room. “They’re evil spies and they’re going to report our meeting back to their leader.”

He chuckled at the absurdity. “Okay, I’m just being a little paranoid. But I would be extremely upset if anything happened to you.”

“I feel the same way about you,” she responded, packing her laptop back in its protective case. “I suppose you’ll be heading back to Montana soon.”

“I’ll see what flights United has available-I’d like to get this to my lawyer as quickly as possible.”

“I understand.”

They sat in an unusual awkward silence for a minute. Gordon asked their server for the bill, and when she returned he charged it to his room. He finished the last of his coffee, ignoring how cold it was, and pushed back his chair. She followed suit. They walked out together, their elbows touching despite the wide staircase.

One of the other morning diners placed his newspaper on the table next to his bacon and eggs and retrieved his cell phone from his pocket. He placed a call to another cell.

“They’re leaving the hotel,” he said, and hung up. He immediately dialed another number.

“Hello.” The call connected to Bruce Andrews’s private line.

“I’m just having breakfast at the Jefferson Hotel,” the caller said. “And I think you’ll be very interested in who I just saw.”

“I’m sure I will be,” Andrews said.

“Let me back up a bit. I had my people enter a search to watch for Gordon Buchanan’s name to show up on an airline manifest. I coded it as a low priority so it wouldn’t draw any attention. Yesterday, we were advised that Buchanan had flown to Richmond on Thursday, September eighth. I checked with the local hotels and found him registered at the Jefferson. And this morning, I was in the Palm Court when he met someone for breakfast.”

“Who was it?” Andrews asked. He knew this man did not play games. This name was going to mean something to him.

“One of your research scientists. Jennifer Pearce.”

There was a brief moment of dead air. Andrews said, “Are you sure it was Pearce?”

“Absolutely. I remember her face from the ad you ran in the newspaper when you hired her. That was only a few months ago. I’m positive it was Jennifer Pearce.”

It had always been Andrews’s policy to run a large ad in the local newspapers when he brought a new, high-profile researcher on board. It showed Wall Street, the competition, and the general public that Veritas was cutting edge.“What did they talk about?”

“No idea, but she had her laptop and they plugged in some sort of portable disk. She spent a few minutes looking at the contents, they had breakfast, and they left. I’ve got a tail on them.”

“Excellent work,” Andrews said. “Buchanan is becoming a major nuisance. He must be looking for evidence that Triaxcion was responsible for his brother’s death. And who knows what he’s got on that disk. We’ve got to do something about him.”

“I think you should leave Buchanan alone. He has a direct tie to your company. I’d be looking at your researcher.”

“Christ, how many employees can die before someone gets suspicious? I don’t know. Touching her is risky.”

“She has direct access to your database. Buchanan doesn’t. No matter what we do to Buchanan, she’ll still have access to whatever information she gave to him this morning.”

“Okay, I’ll think about it.”

“We can take care of it,” the voice said. He almost sounded anxious. Eager.

“No,” Andrews said. “If I decide to go that way, I’ll do it. I can actually kill two birds with one stone.”

“Have it your way.”

“Let me know what else they do today,” Andrews said.

“I’ll call you later.”

Bruce Andrews replaced the phone in its cradle and stared at the green Virginia hills rolling off to the west. Clouds were brewing, dark clouds with the threat of rain. Through thermal convection they mutated from soft, white cumulus clouds into black waves that spilled across the sky threatening to dump cold rain and hail on the verdant countryside. Condensation happening on a massive scale, the moisture inside the clouds rising, then falling until hailstones larger than golf balls finally escaped from the blackness and pounded the crops and acreages that dotted the foothills. Unless the clouds were seeded. Then the hailstones failed to materialize and the precipitation fell as rain or sleet. No damage. Take care of the problem before it pounds you into the ground. That was the answer.

Jennifer Pearce had to die. She had crossed the line between asset and liability. But this time her death had to look like an accident. And no exploding stoves. Evan Ziegler was going to have to sell this one to the authorities. Another suspicious death could prove as fatal as leaving Jennifer Pearce alone with her fingers in the company mainframe. And this may be the opportunity he had been looking for with Evan as well. The man’s future with the company was in jeopardy. In fact, the man’s life was in jeopardy.

He checked the time and calculated the difference to mountain daylight time. It wasn’t too early to call. He picked up the phone and dialed Evan Ziegler’s number.